Everything was not fine.
The slimes were ambush predators. They’d fall out of trees when the group walked by, or squelch their way from behind a stone or trunk after the four passed and let gravity propel them down the hill. They were slow, and their sensory range only seemed to work out to about fifteen feet, but the damage they did largely ignored armor. Occasionally, the slimes would slam into one of them particularly hard and disgorge a burst of acidic fluid, which continued to burn for up to a minute, or until they washed it with water from the skins in their packs. By now, they were running low on water, but the soft glow of the village at the foot of the mountain seemed near enough.
Jack and Erin knew how to light the waxed, pitch torches with the striker included in their gear, but two of the moons were nearly full, and visibility was excellent. The four walked through the forest, checking the trees and poking their weapons into the shadows behind boulders and outcroppings. Slowly, the amount of damage they were racking up from the slimes fell to nothing. Even Layla’s mood improved as her skills steadily gained experience.
The slimes weren’t the worst thing in the mountainside woods.
Erin had taken up the rear, with Jack out front, when she suddenly slammed into Rory’s back and tumbled down the hill, covered in a writhing mass of dark fur and muscle. Her swearing and the snarling of the mountain cat were the only things audible over the din of her platemail skipping across the rocky ground, until a sturdy tree trunk arrested her fall with sharp metallic crack.
The creature reared up and drove its face into Erin’s armpit, digging and clawing at her arm and faceplate. In the blue and white moonlight, it was thickly built, bigger than a rottweiler, with purplish fur, two-inch razor claws, and a powerfully-built neck that led up to heavy bone-crushing jaws. They had seen a similar creature further up the mountain, but it wasn’t much bigger than a house cat. This was a beast, and it was trying to gut Erin through her armor. The black mail was protecting her so far, but the group could see blood on her arm and chestplate. She released a massive, blood-freezing shout and backhanded the big cat off her stomach.
“FUUUUUUUCK YOU!”
She was already up, screaming again, “CHARGE!” The group’s movement toward her collectively stuttered in shock as she burst forward with inhuman speed, a two-hundred pound dart of muscle and metal that slammed into the big cat with unreal force. The beast was back on its feet in the moment between her backhand and pulling herself upright, but it clearly wasn’t ready for the freight train of rage barrelling down on it. She wedge the cat between herself and the ground, clobbering it senseless. Erin suffered no such disorientation, and immediately began beating the cat with her gauntleted fists. “You fucking fuck, how fucking dare, fucking bullshit, fuck, fucking assbag, stupid fuckin-”
She was cut off as the cat abruptly came to its senses, snarling and turning its claws on her faceplate. Layla shot out a hand and incanted “Stumble”, causing the cat’s forelimbs to twitch and splutter as it momentarily lost control of its muscles. Jack dove forward, driving the longsword down behind the cat’s shoulder blade. Only Erin was close enough to hear him whisper “Withering Blade”. The sword burst into black flame, lodged in the beast’s body, and the flesh around the devastating puncture began to dessicate and rot, rapidly mummifying. With a moment to breathe, Erin pulled herself up and crashed downward into the cat’s head, striking just behind the skull with a deafening crack of metal on bone.
Nightstalker (Level 4) has died.
Brawling Skill Level Up
Your Mark of the Chosen has absorbed additional experience from Nightstalker. Additional experience has been split between Brawling and Block.
Congratulations, you have reached Dreadnought Level 2.
Your Health, Stamina, Mana, and Spirit have increased.
You have pending Options.
>>
You have 1 Attribute bonus.
Choose Strength, Vitality, or Will.
Your Strength has improved by 1.
The maximum rank of your Strength skills has increased by 1.
“Shit. I’m bleeding everywhere,” Erin grunted and sank to the ground.
Jack kneeled next to her, “Where are you hurt? We have linen bandages in the packs, right?”
“Yeah, hold up,” Rory began to dig through his bag. “Here. We haven’t got any disinfectant though.”
“It’s fine, we’ll buy liquor in the town. Just need to bind her cuts and stop the bleeding,” he replied.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
As Jack went to work unbuckling Erin’s gauntlets, cuirasse, and plackart, making quick work of the bandages, she fussed and whined at him, “Oww. Ow. Mmph. Ass. Ow. Jack, that hurts.”
“I know, hun, but we’ve gotta stop your bleeding. That hit under your armpit was too close, and the one on your arm is gonna make you stiff tomorrow,” he chided her.
The plate itself was undamaged by the cat’s assault, but a set of tiny scratches on the cuirasse showed how the big cat’s powerful claws had slipped under the pauldron and driven into the pectoral where it connected to the shoulder. Similarly, it had caught her just behind the gauntlet. Her gambeson was punctured, but it could likely be stitched. Jack shivered, considering what the damage would be if the nightstalker had chosen one of the others for its ambush.
“Jack, why do you know so much about armor and first aid?” Layla leaned in to watch him bandage Erin’s arm.
“HEMA,” he stuck his tongue out at her.
“You think I’ll need stitches?” Erin craned her head to look at the wound as Jack wrapped it up.
“Nah, but if this thing had jumped on El or Rory, it would’ve been really bad,” he replied. “All done.”
She wiggled her fingers experimentally, then rotated her shoulder. She let out a small hiss but started pulling her armor back on. “Help me with the buckles?” He nodded and went to work.
The rest of the trip down the mountain was less eventful. They spotted another nightstalker, but it seemed less willing to antagonize them now that they were on guard. Eventually, the lights of the village grew brighter, and the sounds of celebration drew nearer. It seemed there was a festival in progress, and as they broke through the tree line, they saw paper lanterns and torches limned in guttering flame. When they neared the village, a greying man in a hauberk called out and gestured with his blade. “Good eve. Have you come for the festival?”
Rory took the lead, “Indeed we have. We are weary from the road and in need of accommodation.”
The man smiled, but his eyes were narrowed and his brow tight, “From the road? Have you not come down the mountain? A bold choice given your arms and this one’s dress,” he gestured again toward Layla. The group turned as one, and Jack and Erin snapped a double-take at Layla’s lack of horns, wings, and a tail.
Jack: Where’d your… demon stuff… go?
Layla: I have that ability that lets me look human, remember? Figured it was better to be cautious.
Jack: Hey, fair nuff.
Rory: Yes, yes, gee-gee Layla. Now, would you two knock it off? I’m trying to get us into the city without getting stabbed. More.
“A figure of speech, certainly. We’re not from these parts, but a fellow we met to the east mentioned we’d find a challenge in the mountains, thus we took the road less traveled,” Rory flashed the guard a dazzling smile, and he felt Not Worth Your Time spring to life. The guard’s brow unknotted, and he unconsciously returned Rory’s grin.
“Must be fair mighty hunters to have trekked through those mountains at night. Nightstalkers gave you no trouble?” the older man’s smile had grown, pushing up his mustache now.
“One ambushed our rear guard from behind, just a few hours ago,” Rory waved at Erin. “But we made short work of him.”
“Truly? How big?” the guard’s animated eyebrows had climbed up his face.
“About, yay high?” Rory put his hand around mid-thigh.
“Oh,” the guard barked a rough laugh, “just a baby, then! The adults stand here, at the shoulder,” the guard put his hand just under his chin.
The four of them grew pale at the thought of the nightstalker, a solid hundred pounds of muscle, fur, and razored fang and claw, having been a juvenile.
“Sounds like you were lucky tonight,” he chuckled again. “Stick to the roads, yes? Perhaps not so lucky next time. The woods to the South are good for young hunters,” he chuckled again, and waved them off as he turned back to his post.
They walked into the town, shoulder to shoulder, still collectively in shock.
Rory: Are you FUCKING having me on. Fucking six feet at the SHOULDER.
Layla: Rory, I’m a demon with magical puppeteer powers. Did you think slimes and dog-sized-cats were the only monsters in this place?
Erin: All the same. Jack was right earlier. If an adult had jumped us, this would’ve been the shortest anime adventure ever.
Jack: Do you guys hear that? Almost singing. Like… whale song?
Layla: Did you hit your head? Whales? Erin, check his head. Does he have a… no, I do hear it.
Erin: What is that?
They cleared the cobbled street and stepped into a plaza. In the center of the market, a stage had been erected, flying yellow pennants. On the stage stood a man with deep umber skin, midnight black hair cropped close to his skull, appointed in lavish black clothes with golden accents. As the four drew nearer, they noticed his right eye was covered by a patch, a furrowed scar showing above and below the dark leather. His left eye was a singular brilliant gold, and he looked up from the crowd to wink at the newcomers and spare them a warm smile.
“Now, my children, let old Hana regale you wit de story of de Serpent and the Tree, and how de festival of night came to be.”